I wish for my words to flow freely when I talk you, as music notes marked with legato pace. For my body to be at ease, rather than playing staccato. My mind, to conclude whether I want to add a retard to the music, or write in a coda. I used to enjoy the idea of you always playing in my mind, where as now I feel pathetic. I want you to feel the same way. I want you to spend a day in my mind to listen for answers to your troubling questions, then play out all the things you’ve hoped for in the last year. To want to experience yet again what we did best - share one another’s presence, the playlist of our time together. Not comprised of the songs that play now, without eye contact and full of thick tension, one could cut with a knife. But, with innocence and laughter. The way we used to sit in silence and not know how to put into words the things that we thought. The more I realize my feelings haven’t changed since the day I met you, the heavier my heart gets. Yours seems light as notes coming from a flute, resting with the clouds. Our distance increases. It’s incredible how the mind contributes so much to the distance. We can drive to a restaurant, I sitting in the passengers side, feeling the harmony of our minds as we laugh about the music. But an hour later I share the exact same distance as before, the distance of your seat and mine, and our melody now sounds of instruments not tuned together, me losing track of where we are in the score. I feel as if you’re mind is going at a different time signature than mine is, that you were reading the music more carefully than I was. Or maybe we just changed keys. It’s been so long, you’ve already found a new favorite song. I don’t blame you, I would too. I guess my problem is that I’ve never been any good at finding new music.